Dark Love

By Diana Dukely

Dark Love

A tale of honesty, forgiveness, and interminable love.

Phillip and Lillas Dark Love begins after a fairy-tale, their life together up to that point so very nearly perfect. But heartbreak does not discriminate, and its touch has lingered, particularly in Phillip, who still cannot reconcile their tragedy. His subsequent, then recurrent, recalcitrant behaviour eventually drives his Lillabeth into the arms of another.

When, finally, he begins to make permanent positive changes, Lilla terminates her affair to give their marriage another chance. But the all-pervading tendrils of her actions hamper her return-path in ways she did not anticipate. Will it be too late for them to start anew?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Mar 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514444146

Diana Dukely

The author is a forty-six-year-old housewife and mother, with nearly thirty years of nursing experience. She started writing in 2009 after deciding to make tangible her, at times, skewed daydreams. It has since become her life’s passion that, though at times frightening in its ability to consume her, is also exhilarating. But writing, on its own, means little if it is not shared, and it is her dream that, one day, many will enjoy her stories. Dark Love is the second of her two completed manuscripts, her first still being perfected. Three others are in progress, and she looks forward to publishing them all, and more, and so hopes that they will be as enjoyable to read, as they were to write.

Book preview

Chapter One

The snakes were advancing; slithering up and out of her deepest darkness. They made no sound, no hissing or rattling of tails, but she could feel them. She fidgeted and jerked her body, dragging at her skin as if that would send them packing. In her chest now, coiling around her heart and lungs, and she clutched at her breast then pushed and pulled. Slithering then to her stomach, they squeezed so tightly the bile swelled and gurgled. She tasted the bitter emulsifier and winced as she swallowed it.

His hand came then, firm yet tender, but she pushed it away, as if it were poison.

‘No,’ she snapped, ‘I wish you’d stop trying.’ She sat up from her bed, and when her voice came again it was like dishwater. ‘I’m thirsty.’

Her hands fumbling, she reached into the cupboard and removed the pacifiers and with the compressed discs deftly placed, she returned to where he lay reticent. No matter. Better for all that the snakes leave her be.

‘No, Snip, uh uh.’ Lilla’s voice exploded like a landmine, tearing through her blissful nothing, abruptly bringing her back to her, all too real, something. She had absently lifted her head and opened her eyes just as her morning’s first sip of coffee met with her lips. It was, lately, the best part of every day. But this morning the Shepherd-Cross-Kelpie ruined that moment by playfully wrenching the lower half of her uniform from the clothesline.

And Lilla was in no mood to play.

She plonked her cup onto her kitchen’s makeshift bench, the ensuing coffee Tsunami soaking instantly into the warped, unsealed pine, like tea to a biscuit. Then she moved as though her life depended on it.

‘Phillip,’ she yelled, darting to retrieve her belongings from the rascally clutches of her cantankerous husband’s undisciplined dog. ‘Phillip!’ she roared this time, swiftly reaching a set of French doors then, a second later, a pair of steps - if planks of wood haphazardly placed on milk crates constituted the term. They shuddered, as usual, when her feet collided with them then were left, once she’d propelled her body forward, teetering precariously on the edge of their perches.

The animal dropped then attempted to retrieve the item of clothing, Lilla snarling, ‘Snip, drop it,’ before turning her head to seek out his passive accomplice. But no one was there, so again she growled loudly her husband’s name, ‘Phillip!’ She then made to give the dog a smack on his hindquarters. But not even her dexterous limbs could compete with Snip’s genetically derived, and much practiced agility. He smiled like a Cheshire cat before easily dodging her whipping arm and Lilla clenched her fists and stomped one of her feet. ‘Damn it dog,’ she muttered, her bare foot’s collision with non-compliant earth reverberating up her shin.

Her shoulders drooped as her hand dove and swept the ground of her trousers and she scrutinised them front and back, expecting the worst. But one bit of dog drool only, sat on the hem of one of the legs. She flicked them straight, scanning the area for their pegs, then made a mental note to ring and thank her parents, again, for her recent birthday gift - turf. The soft verdant spread far preferable to its clay-clumped predecessor.

‘What is it now?’ His careless tone told Lilla that this was another fight she wouldn’t win. But what the hell. She straightened her back then re-hung the pants, facing the source of her stress when she was done.

All six-foot-three of him stood in the doorway surveying the backyard, his loose dark curls accenting perfectly his strong handsome face. He could’ve been a model, but preferred working manually. Liked making things; he didn’t need to be made. He squatted and fixed the steps then stood again and loosely regarded his wife as he awaited her inevitable retort.

‘Tie him up, or segregate the front yard for him, Phillip. I’m fucking sick of this crap.’

But his gaze wandered elsewhere, his indifferent libretto calmly sighed, ‘What are you worried about? You didn’t get mud on them.’

‘And that’s only thanks to Mum and Dad buying me the turf,’ she scoffed.

‘What difference does it make, Lil?’ he replied, his gaze now fixed on his bare foot and an errant bit of fluff that had attached itself to one of his toe-nails. ‘It’s not like it happens every time you wash. I take him to work with me Monday to Friday.’

‘So tie him up when I’m washing on the weekend,’ she snapped, and she stormed back to the house and then up the steps, forcefully brushing past him as she entered the dining room.

‘Tie him up yourself,’ he said with a shrug, and he ran a hand through his hair and then leaned back on the doorframe, completely unfazed by her stroppy display. It wouldn’t be a normal weekend without one.

Lilla’s head snapped around to face him. ‘You know he won’t come to me, Phillip.’

But he smiled smugly and widened his eyes. ‘Stop being a bitch, and he might.’

She took a deep breath and clenched her teeth. ‘Always got a comeback, haven’t you? Got a smartarse answer for everything.’ She grabbed a dishcloth and began to clean her coffee mess, but it was a pointless exercise. The blemish’s russet fingers were held tightly by the grasping counter, barely shifting, despite her zealous exertion. ‘How about I get myself a dog, Phillip, and train him to disrespect you?’

Phillip dropped his head and, with a passive shake, he idly replied, ‘I haven’t trained him to dis-’

But Lilla didn’t let him finish. Holding onto the bench’s edge, she braced her body. ‘What about that, Flip? Every time you accomplish something, I’ll have my dog come along and wreck it.’ Her eyes widened. ‘I wonder how you’d react, eh? What would you do?’

His top lip skewed and curled, its left corner scrunching into his cheek. ‘Yeah, yeah. Keep going,’ he said as he walked away from her.

‘Oh, wait a minute,’ she hollered after him, ‘you never fucking accomplish anything, do you? So I guess there’s nothing to wreck, is there?’

Phillip had by now entered the bathroom, the door, slamming shut behind him, drowning out his last comeback.

Lilla trembled and paced, throwing the dishcloth with a slap, into the sink. They’d be on edge for the rest of the day now. How much longer was she going to put up with him? She’d been patient for nearly two years, waiting for him to come round, waiting for their relationship to get back to its prior, healthier condition. But things had worsened over the last few months, and she’d lost her zest for it, for him, for them. Now they fought almost every day, at her instigation. Phillip was too lazy these days to start an argument and too indifferent to finish one.

Her hands were cold; were nearly always cold. She placed them on her eyes and lightly pressed. If only he’d talk to her, if only he’d listen too; believe what she had to say. But what he believed was intractable. It was as if he was trying to make it true because he wanted to be right, and now, Lilla was nearly too tired to fight him; maybe he was right. Maybe he’d been right the whole time.

She smiled fleetingly as her eyes’ tension eased, then she removed her hands and picked up her coffee. Sighing, she closed her eyes again and tried to take herself back to where she’d been before the ruckus had intruded. Standing there in the kitchen, her toned, lithe body still as stone, she allowed the warmth and familiarity of the bitter aroma to enter her nares and penetrate her cerebral membranes.

There it swirled, numbing her reality, until she thought nothing of her present circumstances, and nothing either, of her past happiness. Most of all she thought nothing of her fears that her dreams would remain forever in a spare drawer in the back of her mind – unopened, unused, forgotten. Like bargain-basement kitchenware bought for occasions that never eventuated.

Her soft slender hands brought closer the warm mug, the beverage’s vaporous heat escaping its bitter prison then tickling the fine hairs of her well-defined cupids bow. A small sip and she smiled; it was just right.

*     *     *

A few minutes later, rebooted, she toyed briefly with the idea of housework but, as her eyes surveyed her barely renovated home, the urge quickly made an exit.

One room only was complete, the rest of it? Lilla shook her head as she glanced up and down, side to side. Wires protruded from unfinished walls, which in turn met with unpolished floors. And all of the window casings - though sanded smooth - were devoid of any protective coating. The bathroom was tiled but its fixtures were incongruous, and the bedrooms were permanently dishevelled thanks to door-less wardrobes.

The outside was not dissimilar. The patio, while paved, had affixed to it an uncovered frame, so it bore the full brunt of the afternoon sun. Not an issue now but, in a few months when summer hit, it was the last place a person sat and relaxed.

The yard had a few pretty-ish garden plots - if the dog let them be - but was otherwise dotted with piles of soil and debris and, save for the few square metres of lush turf around the clothesline, covered by sick straggly grass. Abutting the house was the only completed outside structure – Phillip’s work shed, of course. And he was always in it, its company, these days, apparently preferable to hers.

The driveway was a nightmare; Lilla hated it with a passion. Though functional enough in the dry, after extended rainfall it was best avoided, the boggy strip reminiscent of a medieval battleground. And the letterbox made her wince each and every time it entered her field of vision. The original fence was a three-foot high brick wall that had long since crumbled into a pile, the built-in letterbox with it. The replacement now consisted of a decapitated five-litre plastic bottle tied with string to a wonkily rooted star-picket. That, and the unsightly, but apparently temporary, hurricane fence that had been erected behind it, was nothing short of déclassé.

In short, their home was in limbo, better than a tent, but only just.

Not exactly what Phillip had promised when they’d bought it two and a half years earlier. But a lot had happened in that time and, in Lilla’s heart of hearts, she knew the house would’ve been the cream of the neighbourhood’s crop had tragedy not struck. That’s why she stayed, to prove she bore no ill. But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing she did or said was ever enough.

After another deep inhalation, she picked up the broom and did the best she could, including cleaning up the dinner mess from the night before that Phillip had said he’d do. Then she jumped on her pushbike, hopeful that fifteen kilometres would send her cares packing.

*     *     *

The streets in her suburb were busy this Saturday morning; it was a good day for everything. Lawns were being clipped, garden beds tended. Cars sparkled, and children practiced their soccer skills.

Lilla tried not to imagine what could’ve been; it was too depressing. Instead, she rode over speed bumps, skirted parked cars, and purposely chose roads and streets that offered a hilly challenge. The more she concentrated on riding, the less her thoughts led her to despondency.

A lot of the homes she passed were new and, while they seemed large and weren’t exactly the same as each other, they were lacking, somehow. Phillip, however - when they used to have conversations not simply throw words at each other - had told her how slapped together some of them were. Perhaps it was that information that was souring her view. Then again, the yards were almost non-existent, offering little in the way of entertaining areas for anyone, let alone children. And that definitely put her off as well.

Of course, she was quick to acknowledge that her and Phillip’s house being quite different caused, in her, a little bias. Their double brick home was one of the oldest in the neighbourhood. And it sat in the midst of a grand 2,000 square-metre block.

Yes. It was very different.

Boasting high ceilings - ornately trimmed - picture rails and wood panelling, its three large bedrooms and sunroom were linked to an expansive lounge-room by a long, wide stretch of hallway. The comment her uncle made, as he’d treaded those boards, suddenly came back to mind, and Lilla smiled. ‘Bloody hell. I should’ve packed a lunch!’

Yes, it was bursting with character, and built to last.

The bathroom and kitchen had been somewhat impractical at the start, those amenities not seen as being important at the time the house was built. And, though Phillip had augmented them when they’d first moved in they, like most of the house, remained incomplete and unfit for guests, the couple’s upset occurring soon after, robbing him of his usual disposition.

It was a shame; Lilla was especially keen to entertain and show off the home that they were so fortunate to have acquired.

Fortunate because a number of property gurus would have happily paid half-again what Lilla and Phillip had. The house, however, would not have survived their improvements, a cluster of pokey townhouses built instead, sold for more than a tidy profit.

Thankfully an old family friend had owned the house, and she was intent on its former glory being reprised. Only Phillip and Lilla could promise her that, and they’d meant it.

She was wasting away in a nursing home now, completely mentally removed from life and love. At least she never inquired as to the progress of her childhood sanctuary.

*     *     *

Phillip was tinkering on his boat when Lilla rode up the driveway. It sat in the shed, as if it was in dire need of preservation, while his Ute and her little hatchback forever lingered in the weather. She parked her wheels alongside the vessel but he barely lifted his head in acknowledgement of her return.

‘Kathy rang. From work,’ he grunted in her general direction.

‘Oh yeah. Did she say what she wanted?’ Lilla was trying to be pleasant.

Phillip shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask,’ he replied.

Her teeth gnawed at its tender surrounds, her cheek stinging at a bite too deep. But it was still preferable to showing offence at his indifference. ‘So she called from work then?’

He eyed her disdainfully, and Lilla’s throat tightened. She just couldn’t get used to that expression; it was one she never thought she’d see on her beautiful man’s face. ‘Yeah,’ he said, then, wide-eyed and enunciating every syllable, he repeated, ‘I said from work.’

‘Oh, I know, I-I just thought you meant …’ But her words dribbled into the ether. It was clear from how his forehead furrowed that he had no further interest in the conversation, if any existed in the first place.

He leapt from the inside of his boat, landing gracefully next to his toolbox on the smooth concrete floor, and she approached him tentatively then wrapped an apology around his waist. Her squeeze increased exponentially as, over the ensuing milliseconds, she willed him to return it.

And he instinctively relaxed, at first, Lilla’s heart leaping as his biceps rippled subtly in the direction of reciprocation. But it was a flicker, at best, his arms stiffening as he vacuously said, ‘Going fishing with Andrew and a few mates tonight. Be back some time in the morning.’ Pulling free of her, he crouched next to his toolbox.

Lilla couldn’t hide her dismay. She always regretted it when they fought, but hated it when he wasn’t there either. Every minute apart was a minute less spent attempting to revive their marriage. ‘Oh, I thought that-’

‘You’re on call, so who knows when you’ll be home. And then you’ll go straight to bed ’cause you’ve gotta work in the morning, so …’ He shrugged the last bit of his excuse away, preferring to fossick in a mess of seldom-used implements.

But wow, he’d taken note of her roster. And the fact he’d justified his decision to make the trip at least showed he anticipated her disappointment. It wasn’t enough though, Lilla’s shoulders sagging as a solitary tear spilled over her lower eyelid and lost itself in her cheek. ‘Yeah, fair enough, I guess,’ she softly said, and she headed toward the house without checking to see whether or not he was watching her; she didn’t need to be disappointed twice.

Chapter Two

He’d pulled out the lawnmower by the time she’d readied for work. But Lilla was unimpressed, her brow rippling as she cynically wondered when he would tire of the chore, and pack it in. She waved her arms above her head to get his attention, yelling, ‘I’m off, Phillip.’ But her words were engulfed by the machine’s hoarse churn.

Kiss me goodbye, stop what you’re doing and kiss me goodbye.

But he didn’t. He hadn’t for some time.

He raised his head with a start, smile in place, and Lilla’s lips began to swing wide. But upon finding it was his wife seeking him out, not a mate, his expression resumed its current default - sombrely flat. He lifted his forefinger from the handle of the lawnmower, however, and his chin flicked slightly outward too, before his eyes lowered. And that was more than she expected. But she still grunted disappointedly, the farewell hardly befitting the woman whose beauty had reduced him to tears on their wedding day. More like the sort of acknowledgement one fellow would offer another who had driven past and tipped his hat.

Never mind, Lilla had expelled the day’s frustration in the shower. How the drain grate hadn’t rusted from her salty emissions was anyone’s guess.

Next time though, he’d come to her. She was sure of it.

*     *     *

She drove the twenty minutes to the small suburban hospital that employed her, entering the female change room of the operating theatres in her usual lackadaisical manner. It was rare these days for Lilla to make an enthusiastic entrance but, once her mind was sufficiently distracted with her tasks, the conscientious and enthusiastic side of her old-self would sneak through.

She pulled out her dog-drooled floral scrubs from her faded stripy beach-bag and removed from her locker her iridescent blue leather clogs. Then she quickly changed and walked toward the recovery unit, arriving at 1:30 p.m. on the dot.

‘Hey, Lil,’ chirped the effervescent Kathy, her thick bob-cut bouncing in time with her words.

‘Hi, Kathy, sorry again I couldn’t swap that shift.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll ask Richard on Monday. It’s my own stupid fault. I should’ve written it in my diary. But you know, who but me would forget an anniversary weekend?’

Lilla hoped there was enough to keep the two of them busy. She didn’t have the emotional fortitude today to listen to this, albeit harmless, woman prattle on about every minutia of her life for the next hour and a half. Mind you, she seldom did on any day, with anyone. Her teeth though, were very nearly showing when she smiled and, with a modicum of interest, did she then ask, ‘So what’s on this afternoon?’

Kathy reached across the nurses’ workstation for the theatre list and passed it over to Lilla. ‘A mixed bag,’ she said, ‘fractured wrist. Um, query appendix, some facial lacs from an MVA, and of course, the day wouldn’t be complete without a caesarean. She’s in there now. Not too bad, eh?’

‘No, sounds all right. How’d you go with your demented hip this morning?’

Kathy rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her head. ‘If that old duck doesn’t dislocate it again, it’ll be a bloody miracle! She had her leg slung over-’ the sound of a baby’s protests interrupted her momentarily, and she smiled. The forty-seven-year-old grandmother of three could not get enough of babies, no matter whose they were ‘-I’ll take this one if you like.’

Lilla nodded then made a hasty retreat to the blanket warmer, making sure it was filled with its namesake, before systematically checking over the ten bed spaces and ensuring that the tote-baskets on the shelves at their rear, held enough of the most-used recovery-room items.

It was a superfluous act really as, not only would Kathy have performed the same task when she’d arrived that morning but, being a weekend, only emergency operations were performed so it tended not to be busy enough to use any more than two bed spaces at a time. Still, it kept Lilla occupied, and she neatened and cleaned as she restocked and culled, keeping her head low and her mouth closed.

Father, baby, and midwife wandered into the area thirty minutes later, mother and anaesthetist rolling in fifteen minutes after that. It was the woman’s first baby and Lilla could tell by her dazed expression that it hadn’t quite sunk in, the woman’s eyes dopily ping-ponging between her babe and her grinning husband.

As the anaesthetist relayed the pertinent information to Kathy she fussed exuberantly over the tiny bundle, it not seeming to bother him that her full attention was not at his disposal. But he’d begun his address with the words ‘straightforward caesarean,’ and any recovery nurse worth her salt could predict what was to follow.

As was usual the woman had had a spinal anaesthetic block, and Lilla slipped out to fetch Kathy some ice cubes, returning as the anaesthetist was wishing mother and father well. He nodded politely at Lilla before going on his way.

She pulled the curtain around the bed and smiled at the father. ‘Two minutes,’ she said kindly. The midwife reassured the father, ‘Once the nurses have finished, we’ll pop bub onto the breast okay?’

He nodded enthusiastically and resumed his squat, staring at his little one in awe, while the midwife came back to Kathy and Lilla, looking on as they went through their motions.

The mother’s anaesthetic, though enabling her to meet her baby immediately, meant she was bed-bound for, possibly, the next twelve hours. Not much of an issue when the baby was well, but if baby needed to be admitted to the special-care nursery, the mother would not be able to see her until she was up and about; quite upsetting for most mothers.

Kathy palpated the woman’s uterus to see that it had contracted, checked for blood loss - vaginally and from the surgical incision - and then took an ice cube and brushed it against the woman’s cheek, before running it along her torso. ‘Now you tell me when it feels really cold okay? It’ll tell us how high your spinal block is.’

The young woman nodded passively, her eyebrows buckling as she concentrated. ‘Um, I can feel something, but it’s not cold,’ she said, as the ice cube was zigzagged up her body. The cube began to melt and shrink, and as it reached the top of the woman’s pendulous breasts, she flinched and giggled. ‘It’s cool but not, oh yep, definitely freezing.’

Kathy removed the ice then wiped the moisture from the upper section of the woman’s chest. ‘Still too high,’ she said, explaining further, ‘your block needs to come down to at least under your breasts before we can send you back to the ward.’

Lilla, in the meantime, had been attending to other needs - connecting the woman’s syntocinon infusion to an intravenous pump, ensuring the correct dose of the uterotonic medication was administered. Attaching plastic tubing to the inflatable sleeves that had been fitted around the woman’s calves, she activated a sequential pneumatic compression unit, reducing the woman’s risk of thrombosis. Checking her temperature and acting accordingly to keep it in normal range. This would help prevent, amongst other things; bleeding, wound infections, and abnormal changes to her body’s pH. She also ensured that her urinary catheter tubing was unkinked, fastened, and draining freely into a securely hung reservoir. Once done she smiled at the mother and indicated to the midwife that she could now commence with her duties. She then walked back to the nurse’s station and rang the maternity ward to let them know that the new mother would be brought across in an hour or so.

Kathy sauntered over to Lilla a short time later. ‘Such a beautiful baby,’ she gushed. Lilla chuckled as she replied, ‘They’re all beautiful to you, Kathy.’

Kathy shook her head in defiance. ‘No, but this one’

Lilla interrupted her, cocking her head in the direction of the door. ‘Who was the anaesthetist? Did he start on my days off?’

Kathy nodded absently. ‘Yeah, he’s taken Hugo’s place for the next three months, at least. I don’t know the goss about him-’ she grinned impishly ‘-but he’s a bit of a dish, isn’t he?’

Lilla shrugged indifferently. ‘I s’pose,’ she said, ‘for an old bloke.’

Kathy smacked Lilla’s arm and Lilla flinched. ‘He’s younger than me, you scamp.’

Lilla chuckled. ‘Yeah, like I said-’ before quickly ducking out of Kathy’s reach. Kathy feigned great offence and toddled back to the new mother, Lilla smiling sadly as the woman walked away. The banter had elicited a generous serve of melancholy; she used to often play that way.

Never mind. She drummed her fingers on the desktop, trying to think of something other than her failing marriage, the phone ringing as an idea occurred to her on how better to organise the bed-space baskets. She quickly answered it, relieved for the distraction, but her cheery greeting was responded to brusquely. ‘Where’s my thermos?’

Lilla frowned and her tone flattened, her disappointment at his still being shitty unable to be disguised. ‘Hi, Phillip.’

‘Yeah. My thermos, do you know where it is?’

‘I don’t-’ she sighed loudly ‘-I don’t know. Where’d you have it last?’ she asked, almost patiently. She’d never argued with him at work before, but there was a first time for everything.

‘Near my fishing gear.’

‘Then, Phillip, how wou-’

‘You were rummaging through the shed the other day.’

‘Yeah, I was looking for the bike pump. I don’t fish, Phillip. Why would I go near your gear?’

He groaned petulantly. ‘I thought you might’ve seen it and decided it belonged in the kitchen.’

Her tone developed an edge. ‘No. I didn’t, and I haven’t seen it. But maybe you put it in the kitchen.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe to wash it or-’

He grunted, following quickly with, ‘Never mind. I’ll have a look then. See ya.’

‘Yeah, b-’ but he’d already hung up.

She squirmed and reddened, replacing the handset as she simultaneously cast her gaze in Kathy’s direction. Kathy played well the frivolous role, but Lilla knew, as did anyone else who’d spent more than a little time with her, that she picked up on quite a bit more than what she let on. And though Lilla knew she wouldn’t have been able to hear the meat of the communiqué she wondered, had she witnessed its delivery?

It wasn’t immediately obvious. Kathy had quickly bent over the new mother, when Lilla’s eyes found her, and was now adding her two cents to the midwife’s counsels, which was normal practice for her. Upon soon after raising her head, however, and looking back at Lilla, her expression spoke volumes. Lilla’s tone and body language had been unmistakeable to the consummate busybody. But she didn’t approach and pry, for once. She merely offered a condescending smile of support which Lilla responded to by looking elsewhere.

It was demeaning to be spoken to in that way by anyone, let alone her husband. But she forced positivity. There were small things he’d done lately which showed he might be turning the corner: the flinch in his arms earlier today for starters plus, of course, his justification of the fishing trip. True, the progress was slow, but it was still progress, and when she got him back he would never have reason to doubt her love for him. Never.

*     *     *

‘Not into babies?’ The voice’s owner had silently approached as she’d been talking herself up, and Lilla’s head jerked to face him. ‘Uh, oh. I was on the phone,’ she replied.

‘Ahh.’ He stared at her for a few seconds and then raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, I’m the new anaesthetist,’ he said, ‘sorry I didn’t introduce myself before. Alwyn.’

Lilla smiled sheepishly; she’d not introduced herself either and, being a perennial, should probably have welcomed the newcomer. ‘Oh, hi, Alwyn?’

‘Yeah, not a common name,’ he said, ‘but what can you do?’ He smiled, but the camber of it was so inviting and so unaffected, Lilla was almost convinced they shared years of familiarity. Consequently, her smile broadened, her eyes brightening too. But her head suddenly jerked when she remembered she had to speak, and she said through an embarrassed giggle, ‘Oh sorry, I’m Lilla.’

Alwyn’s chin dipped, dragging his eyebrows and smile with it. ‘Um, Lilla?’

The affinity she nearly felt disappeared in the face of his pejorative query. It was just a name; his was equally unusual, and she’d not passed judgement. However, her comeback was light and did not entirely spell an end to the conversation. ‘Yeah. Lilla.’

His eyebrows bounced into his hairline and his lips pursed but he said nothing, at first. Until Lilla’s forehead furrowed, and then he quickly observed, ‘That’s not a name you hear often either. Is it short for something?’

She shrugged and shook her head. ‘No,’ she simply said. Because who cared that her mother knew a girl at school named Lilly, who was always called Lilla. And that that girl was sweet and fun and a joy to be around. And who cared that the name had stuck in her mother’s mind as being what she’d name her first daughter. Who gave a shit?

Alwyn stared with eyes wide, perhaps awaiting more to be said on the topic, but Lilla had slumped in her seat, her focus astray as she, with hope, awaited his departure. When seconds passed without that occurring, and Lilla realised that his intention was for a conversation, not small talk, she straightened her pose, relaxed her expression, and made eye contact.

Because that’s what normal people did.

‘It’s a bit different I suppose. Most people call me Lil. Do you get called Al?’ Her attention wandered passed him again, just briefly, as a familiar staff member walked by, Lilla smiling amicably and the face warmly reciprocating.

‘Ah,’ he replied, shuddering melodramatically, ‘not if I can help it.’

Lilla tapped her finger to her head and winked. ‘Warning heeded,’ she said.

Another intermission followed that, this time, was most likely obligatory to a first meet, not necessarily a sign of disinterest from either party, nor even a sign of incompatibility. Lilla hoped, however, that it would cause him to move on. She wasn’t keen on a long chat, her appetite for it steadily waning over the preceding months.

But